


Mais je suis un cheerleader

by TheAceMerperson



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheerleaders, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3737989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAceMerperson/pseuds/TheAceMerperson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That les Amis cheerleading AU I've always dreamed of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The proper term would be rooster.

He's positioned himself strategically so his eyes are hidden from the sun by the bleachers. There are repeated shouts of names and whistle blowing from the field behind him, but Grantaire is slowly dozing off anyway. No one would be looking for him until after lunch break when the football team finally leaves. Maybe no one will look for him at all and he'll get a good nap before he has to get back to his art project. Maybe he-

A metallic thump that sounds strangely like someone just punched the bleachers jerks him out of his daydreaming.

"Grantaire! What the hell? We've been texting you for the past forty minutes. "

He slowly opens one eye, as if he needs to check who the voice belongs to. It's still very pleasant to see the golden halo hovering above him, even when it's framing a furious expression. Enjolras doesn't look pleased. Grantaire sighs and sits up, rubbing his face as he yawns.

"I left my phone in my other giant rooster suit. My bad."

He looks back at the rooster head and winces. The fake feathers are a little scrunched up. Using his mascot costume as a pillow might not have been the best idea.

"They should really think about putting pockets in this thing."

Enjolras doesn't comment, he just growls and turns on his heel and starts walking away. Grantaire follows, rooster head under his arm. For some reason the captain before Enjolras had decided that full uniform would be worn during practice at all times, no matter how expensive that would be. And the board of varsity sports kept that as a tradition. Luckily (or not) Enjolras is against that particular tradition which is why he wears tracksuit pants under his skirt. It doesn't stop Grantaire from wondering what it would look like on his bedroom floor.

"Enj, you found him!"

Courfeyrac bounces up to them as they reach the opposite end of the football field, his skirt flouncing in the wind. Unlike their captain, Courf has no ideological problems with showing off his legs. Neither do Combeferre and Bahorel. Grantaire is pretty sure the only reason Jehan wears leggings under theirs is because they like how the duck pattern and lime green clash with the blue white and red of their uniform.

"Where are Feuilly and the duo?" Grantaire asks, looking around for the rest of the group.

"Bossuet still hasn't recovered from his sprained ankle but Joly should be here soon."

"We're down to eight again." Grantaire sticks his head into the rooster mask and wiggles his feathered arms. "And then there were none."

"Be serious, Grantaire."

Grantaire crows back at their captain and skips away towards their practice spot. From behind him he hears Enjolras ask:

"Why did we give him the role of mascot?"

There are a whole bunch of voices supplying answers and Grantaire is glad that his face is covered because he's blushing. His friends are too good to him. He nearly chokes on his own saliva when he hears Combeferre of all people say that he's charming. And then of course Courf has to chime in with:

"Come on, Enjolras, he's the hottest cock you've ever seen."

There are a few claps and Grantaire guesses that Courf and Bahorel are doing their elaborate highfiving ritual. When they're all gathered near the fence Grantaire realizes that the field isn't clear yet. There are still a few football players and their coach. Which doesn't promise anything good for the cheerleaders. Coach Javert is already very strict with his players, and it's even worse for their tiny group. Thank the powers above for Enjolras and his don't-take-shit-from-nobody attitude.

"I'm sorry coach, but the field is signed off to the cheerleading squad after 1pm. It's 1:07 and I'd like to start practising."

Javert narrows his eyes at the small crowd of teenagers and frowns.

"My boys here haven't finished. Priority goes to the football team."

Enjolras smiles that polite and terrifying smile of his.

"I understand why you may think so, sir. But I've done the paperwork and the whole field is ours until 3. The entirety of it. Without any football players on it. Or teachers."

One of the football players snorts and Grantaire wants to shove his clawed foot up his ass. Javert scoffs.

"Let me see the authorization then."

Usually this it the moment when Enjolras triumphantly produces a slip of paper or an argument that leaves teachers bumbling and confused, but when he pats his tracksuit pocket for the piece of paper he finds nothing. Enjolras looks back at the others with a confused expression and Combeferre shrugs.

"I saw you take it out of your gym bag, Enj. I have no idea."

"Right, just as I though. Your dance practice can wait."

Javert turns away from them and walks over to one of his players just as another one adds:

"Go sit on the benches and watch what real men are supposed to look like." Followed by a slur.

Nobody has the time to stop Bahorel from lunging at him. There is a mix of shrieking from Courfeyrac, angry yelling from Enjolras and outraged grumbling from Javert as the two boys roll around on the ground. Suddenly there is blood and Grantaire can't do much except headbutt the football player and drag Bahorel up by the collar of his uniform.

"I'm going to make you eat my fist next time, Omar!"

Which is when Javert slaps a detention slip each into Grantaire's feathered chest and into Bahorel's hand, ignoring his bleeding knuckles and the hell that is Enjolras breaks loose.


	2. Weapon of choice: a bassoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eponine's eyebrow game is above anyone else's

"I'm late for ten bloody minutes and what do you do in the meantime? Huh?"

Joly punctuates every word with an angry swipe of his disinfecting wipes over Bahorel's bruised cheekbone. Enjolras sits a few steps away from them on a bench, staring at the paper in his hands. Detention all Thursday afternoon. At the time of their scheduled practice. Apparently Javert didn't appreciate being yelled at by a 17 year old.

"Enj, I um..."

Grantaire is no longer wearing that monstrosity of a rooster costume, but he hasn't had time to shower between being dragged to the principal's office and coming back to the field so Joly could check him over for bruises. His dark curls are sticking to his forehead and there is a band aid on his nose from where the rooster's beak dug into it during the fight.

"I found the permission form. It was by the bleachers."

He hands over the crumpled bit of paper and Enjolras wants to scream. If Grantaire hadn't hidden away before practice he wouldn't have gone searching for him and wouldn't have lost the paper. Except it's not Grantaire's fault.

"Great, it'll be useful next time we get to practice. Which won't be until next month."

He snaps anyway, because it's easier than telling Grantaire that it's fine.

"Jeez, cap. We don't have to always practice on school grounds you know. You can go somewhere else in the meantime."

"The school rules state that..."

"Apollo, do I need to repeat your own fuck the system speech back at you again?"

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at him and Enjolras wants to yell at him, or laugh the idea off as absurd but as always (to his annoyance) Grantaire has a point. They're part of a sports team like any other and he's made it clear from the start that their main purpose isn't to encourage the other teams, but to show that this is a valid and gender varied sport as well. He'd fought during his entire first year of captaincy to get the words "all male" removed from their school program after Jehan had come out as genderqueer. And his campaign for accessibility in sports was so worth it when Bossuet introduced his boyfriend Joly who had never played sports in his life but wanted to try out for the squad. And that means they have to practice, and show their best at competitions so that the school board keeps taking them seriously. He looks up at Grantaire who is still standing there with an unreadable expression and annoyingly piercing blue eyes.

"No, no I think you've done enough. Hit the showers."

He gets a barely audible _yes cap_ in response and watches as Grantaire disappears into the locker room. As soon as he's gone Enjolras gets the same uneasy feeling he always gets after moments like these. Ferre slides up to him on the bench and nudges his shoulder.

"You know, Grantaire had a suggestion about where we should practice instead."

"Then why didn't he say so?" Enjolras grumbles, fumbling with the papers he's holding.

"Because his captain told him to hit the showers, maybe?" Courfeyrac supplies, sitting down on Enjolras' other side. "You really should be just a tad more patient with him."

"Oh, buzz off you two. I don't need another of your Grantaire talks right now."

Courf whines. "But things would be so simple if you stopped pushing him away all the time. Seriously. He keeps trying to talk to you..."

"In his own, R-esque way." Combeffere interjects.

"...And you just keep brushing him off because...what's today's reason?"

"He's being reckless and irresponsible." Enjolras firmly states.

"By taking a nap? Enj, come on. You fell asleep in history this morning."

"Because the teaching is biased and misinformed I didn't need to listen to it."

"More like you stayed up all night writing obscure angsty speeches in your diary again."

"It's a journal."

Courfeyrac throws his hands up in the air and groans. "I can't. Ferre, please talk to our child. I need some wine and a bubble bath."

He stands up from the bench and dramatically walks into the locker room. The rest of the squad follows and soon there are sounds of water splashing followed by laughter and shrieking. Enjolras hopes that everyone will be dressed by the time he goes in. No need to walk in on another cheerleader orgy. Combeferre's gaze lingers on the locker room door before he turns back towards the captain.

"Courfeyrac is right, Enjolras."

"Of course he is."

The meaning of those words hangs between them. It's a pretty low blow, but at this point he's not really thinking straight anymore. If it were any other person Enjolras would expect them to either ignore the elephant in the room or protest, but this is Combeferre. And the only person unaware of his feelings seems to be the object of them himself.

"You really want to turn this into me talking about my feelings for our friend?"

Enjolras shakes his head. He just wants to practice properly and graduate from this bloody school and know it won't go to shit for the younger students like Jehan.

"Fine. I'll go talk to Grantaire. If anything comes of this I'll schedule some extra practices."

"Think before speaking please."

And with that Combeferre disappears into the locker room as well. Enjolras isn't particularly thrilled with the idea of talking to Grantaire with a bunch of naked people around so he heads towards the parking lot. Grantaire's tiny car is parked in its usual spot (the lawn at the end of the ow of cars) but there are already people near it. Grantaire seems to be in the process of stuffing a large case into his backseat while his friend Eponine looks on, a cigarette between her fingers. She keeps gesticulating wildly and there are ashes in Grantaire's hair already.

"Who the fuck do they think they are? I don't want to move to marching band. Why did they give me the bassoon if they knew they'd need more people in the bloody marching band?"

"Dude, you can play clarinet just as well."

"That doesn't mean I want to _walk around_ and play it."

"Isn't Marius in marching band?"

"He is but..."

Eponine trails off when she sees Enjolras approaching. As if he doesn't know about the Marius situation. Everyone is aware of the girl who kept following the freckled teenager around during all of freshman year.

"The blond fury is here."

Grantaire spins around and the bassoon case slides out of the car and falls on his foot. He hisses and jumps away. Eponine is clearly unimpressed.

"Hi Eponine."

"Apollo. What has R done now?"

By the way Grantaire looks away and starts to angrily push at the bassoon case Enjolras gets the feeling that they'd been discussing cheering practice before they moved onto Eponine's band problems.

"I just need to ask him something."

Grantaire finally wrestles the case into his car and leans back against the door.

"Please, Apollo. Anything you can say to me you can say in front of my peeps."

He gestures to the empty parking lot. Eponine doesn't even blink.

"Right. Well, I've reconsidered your idea of having practice someplace else..." (Eponine coughs and it sounds suspiciously like she's saying Combeferre) "...so I'd like to know if you have any suggestions about a location we could use."

"Oh." Grantaire blinks and his lips quirk up in a tiny relieved smile. "Sure."


	3. Bahorel is a wise and busy man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean Valjean is a teenager's best friend.

When the locker room door opens Courf assumes it's Enjolras and he's not one for passing up the opportunity to annoy his friend. So he doesn't bother with draping a towel around his waist and simply strolls out of the shower with a satisfied expression. Which switches to horror when he sees Combeferre. Courf scrambles for his towel and tries to cover himself as quickly as he can.

"Shit. I thought you were Enjy. God, 'Ferre, I'm sorry."

Combeferre's cheeks are slightly red, but he doesn't look too affronted.

"And why would Enjolras want to see you naked?"

"He wouldn't. That was the point. Not that you want to see me naked either...."

If Courfeyrac could sink through the ground and wind up in Satan's lap so he can cry and complain about being an idiot around the guy he likes, he would. Normally he wouldn't be embarrassed. This is Combeferre, they've all seen each other naked at some point or another. It comes with being on a sports team. But there's a difference between a bunch of people running around with no pants on, throwing shoes at each other and being alone and completely naked in front of your crush.

"He went to talk to Grantaire, if you want to catch up to him. I'll even cover you if you decide to run there in the nude."

"Oh, hush you. Toss me my bag."

Combeferre obliges, the blush completely gone. But his glasses are steaming up no matter how many times he tries to rub at them. And in this moment of utter vulnerability Courfeyrac decides to be even stupider. He grabs his bag from his friend's outstretched hand and quickly stands on his tiptoes to reach Combeferre's lips with his. It's brief and somehow tastes like coffee, but as soon as Combeferre moves Courf bolts. He dashes out of the locker room and into the school corridor which is thankfully empty. There aren't many places where he could get dressed and rethink his life choices so he goes for the nearest closet. And bumps into two people.

"Mate, what the fuck."

The light inside the closet goes on and Courfeyrac sighs of relief. The two people in question are Bahorel and some random girl. They both look him up from head to toe and Bahorel clears his throat expectantly.

"Sorry, I just, um...I need to change in here if you don't mind."

"Nu-uh, I don't want you flashing your pale ass at my lady."

Courfeyrac doesn't move. The girl laughs, pecks Bahorel on the cheek and sneaks back out the door. When it closes behind her Courf unzips his bag and starts to pull out his regular clothing.

"I don't mean to pry, but why couldn't you change in the locker room?"

"I kissed 'Ferre." Courfeyrac blurts out.

Bahorel is silent for a moment and Courfeyrac finishes dressing and starts lacing his shoes up. When he looks up at his friend he's surprised to see Bahorel looking down at him with his arms crossed and eyebrows drawn together.

"And?"

"What do you mean "and"? Do you normally go around kissing your best friend? He'll hate me. No he won't, he's Combeferre, but I don't want to hear him explain that he's..."

He trails off because he hadn't even thought about it. For some reason no one ever discussed sexuality in a personal way in the group. So he has no idea whether Combeferre is into guys or not. Which is strange because they've known each other for so long. They've even been drunk together multiple times and it has never come up.

"I think you two need to talk. Mostly because it's not cool to kiss someone and run away, but also because Enjolras is going to ground you if you start acting weird around each other."

Always the wise man, Bahorel.

Courfeyrac nods and slowly opens the door. He peeks out into the hallway just to be sure but Bahorel isn't that cautious, and with a slap on the ass he sends Courf flying out the door and into their arts teacher. Mr. Valjean (more commonly known as J-man) luckily manages to catch the boy before he crashes face first into the wall and looks accusingly at Bahorel.

"I'm not going to ask what you were doing in that closet, gentlemen, but please be careful. Coach Javert is already quite displeased with the cheer team and I'd hate for you all to get reprimanded as well."

He pats Courfeyrac's head and continues walking towards his studio. His shoulders are tense and Courfeyrac feels a little sad when he catches a glimpse of some grey hair slipping out from under the teacher's wide brimmed hat. J-man is one of the few teachers that actually have treated their gang of misfits decently from the start, perhaps because he's Cosette's dad. But he's pretty sure it's also due to the fact that J-man and Javert have some weird rivalry going on that Courfeyrac jokingly passes off as sexual tension.

"Sorry about that, Courf."

Bahorel turns away from the teacher's retreating back and smiles apologetically at his friend.

"No problem. Sorry for interrupting...whatever I was interrupting. I'll knock next time."

"No next times. Talk to him, seriously. Don't make me be the reasonable one here. Ugh, where is Feuilly when shit like this happens?"


	4. Rain isn't sexy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joly is probably allergic to grass...

The first "illegal" practice goes horribly. Grantaire wants to bang his head against a rock, or some other hard surface. Like Enjolras' abs. When he had suggested they use the abandoned parking lot turned field behind the convenience store run by Eponine's parents he didn't really think about having to mow the overgrown grass or how those without vehicles would have a hard time getting there on their own. He would kick himself for that now. So after an entire afternoon of tearing out small trees and snapping at Eponine's comments about them finally getting some exercise, the cheering squad was discouraged and exhausted.

"My kingdom for ice cream." Jehan mumbles before collapsing onto a pile of freshly mowed grass.

Joly scrunches up his nose but doesn't comment. They had previously encountered a nest of centipedes that Jehan had saved him from.

"Hey Ep, have your parents repaired their deep freeze?"

"We can go check."

For some reason, half the marching band had come along to their cleanup session. Well, Eponine came because it's technically her field and Musichetta came because Bossuet insisted on attending even though his ankle was still purple and didn't even come close to fitting into his shoe. But what Marius and Cosette are doing there is beyond him. Eponine and Cosette run off to the convenience store and Grantaire finally chances a look at Enjolras. The captain's face is flushed and sweaty, but he doesn't look upset with Grantaire. Just upset in general, which is nothing new. What is new is the fact that Combeferre and Courfeyrac aren't at his side. They are as far away from each other as possible. Courf keeps glancing up at his friend and blushes while touching his lips. He's not being subtle at all. Grantaire sighs. Whatever happened between those two is clearly taking a toll on their leader. Bahorel joins him on his own pile of grass and throws an arm over his shoulders.

"What are you sighing about? Did you kiss someone and run away too?"

"Who ki...oh, Courf. That explains all the mouth touching. Why can't they just get their mutual pining over with already?"

"Oh, yes. I wonder why."

"I don't like that tone, mister."

Bahorel snorts and squeezes Grantaire's shoulder. The girls come back with armfuls of freezies and there is a pause during which everyone sucks on the flavoured ice as crickets chirp all around them. It's oddly peaceful and Grantaire is finally starting to relax when the first drop lands on his skin. Followed by another two. And then buckets of water are unleashed onto them. The entire group scatters. Some hide on the narrow porch of the convenience store, and some dash under the trees on the other side of the field. Somehow, as if the rain wasn't already enough, Grantaire finds himself sharing a small tree with Enjolras. The rain is going just as strongly around them, but Grantaire is completely distracted by a very persistent blond curl that hangs just above Enjolras' collarbone and steadily drips water onto his t-shirt.

"-aire. Grantaire?"

The boy startles and looks up to meet his captain's eyes.

"Hm, what?"

"I meant to thank you for finding us a place to practice. I realize I've been a bit...harsh lately."

Grantaire laughs at that. The other two members of the trio clearly still managed to find time to brainwash their friend while mooning over each other.

"Really. I find you an abandoned dump that we have to spend half the practice cleaning up and then we get caught in a thunderstorm. I wouldn't be surprised if half the squad gets sick. This is clearly my best idea yet."

Enjolras frowns and Grantaire is already expecting a scolding of some sort, but instead he hears:

"Well, the pet grooming fundraiser would have been a good idea if it wasn't for Bossuet's allergy. And we all should have guessed that Jehan and Montparnasse would slip something, ahem, medicinal into the products for our bake sale. That one really wasn't anyone's fault but theirs."

There is amusement in the leader's eyes. Grantaire thinks he might be hallucinating. There is no one around to hear this but him, and yet Enjolras is being genuinely nice. More so than he deserves. They stare at each other in silence as the rain continues to fall. Grantaire with a startled and frankly scared expression and Enjolras with an unreadable but tender one.

"Enj, you really shouldn't take me seriously..."

He gets a shrug in answer and then Enjolras' hand reaches out and runs over his hair.

"You have leaves and grass everywhere." He murmurs as he gently picks out little twigs out of the dark frizzy mess.

Grantaire feels his face heating up. He's way too close and there is way too much water everywhere. Enjolras' eyes flicker to his mouth and back up to his hair again as a blush spreads down his neck. His hand has stopped moving and is now simply resting, tangled in Grantaire's curls.

"You know, I always feel terrible after our arguments."

"Same, you are a force to be reckoned with, cap."

"No, I mean..." Enjolras takes a deep breath and slowly leans forward. Grantaire is frozen in place, suddenly extremely aware of his soaked cold tank top clinging to him and how warm Enjolras is. His eyes flutter closed and...

"COURFEYRAC, WAIT!"

The two boys jerk apart so suddenly that Grantaire hits his head on the tree. He turns around to the source of the scream, rubbing the growing bump on his scalp and sees as a flash of blue stripes dashes past them. Combeferre is still standing under the tree that Courf had just escaped from, a lost expression on his face. Marius glances between them and, after a thunderclap, sets off after Courf.

"I'll get him home, don't worry guys!"

It hits Grantaire then that Enjolras was about to kiss him. And if the whole Courferre fiasco is any indication it is a terrible horrible (deliciously so) idea. He doesn't look back at their tree as he marches over to the porch where the rest of their friends are huddled and grabs his backpack.

"Anyone else need a ride? We can't really practice without the top of our pyramid can we."

He glances over his shoulder at the small blond figure on the other end of the field. Enjolras looks vulnerable and pitiful standing all alone, completely drenched. Grantaire looks away.

"So, any takers?"

"Well, my ride just left." Cosette sighs. Grantaire obligingly helps her stuff her instrument case into the back of his car and the tiny girl climbs in after. Feuilly and Bahorel somehow manage to squeeze in together into the passenger seat and Grantaire is too tired to care about safety precautions. Musichetta reassures him that she'll drive her boyfriends home and that Combeferre will probably give Enjolras a ride.

As he pulls out of the parking lot Grantaire thinks about delicate but strong fingers tangled in his hair.


	5. The coffee of angry men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When all else fails, it's Feuilly to the rescue.

Apparently sleeping through history repeatedly takes its toll on the teacher responsible for the subject. Which is how Enjolras ends up squeezed between Feuilly and Combeferre on a tiny couch in the reading corner of the library after another row with the principal. The two of them are going back and forth with highlighters and post-its but all Enjolras can think about is Grantaire's retreating back behind a curtain of rain.

Did he spook him? Was he too forward?

He didn't really understand at first when Combeferre had arrived at his place with a tray of 4 coffees ("1 for you the rest are for me") and enough clementines to feed an army. Clementines were Ferre's stress food, something about peeling them being soothing. And when he heard about Courf's shenanigans in the locker room he didn't see why it was that big of a deal. Courfeyrac just does things like that, the troubles of being hyperactive and affectionate. But then Ferre said:

"What would you do if you were in my place?"

And instead of imagining himself being kissed by his best friend, which was what Combeferre had meant, he imagined being kissed by a messy haired annoying boy with dark circles under his eyes way too deep for someone so young. Which wasn't an upsetting thing to imagine at all. In fact, he had continued to imagine various scenarios in which Grantaire would kiss him and panic was not what they made him feel. Joy, maybe. Giddiness. A warm feeling that crept up his chest and into his throat before nesting itself in his head.

Which is probably why Enjolras nearly blurted out “Kiss him back.”

And seeing as his actual advice of “discussing it” failed miserably, as well as his internal advice of just kidding, he was starting to think that this was not his forte. Bossuet and Joly probably give Grantaire way better adv-

“-pass me the green notebook? Enjolras?”

Enjolras reaches over for the notebook, overturning Combeferre’s coffee cup in the process and dumping the (luckily only lukewarm) content of it into his friend’s lap. Combeferre stares at his grey jeans and the growing stain on them and readjusts his glasses.

"Not exactly my preferred way of absorbing caffeine. But oh well, I think it's time for a break anyway." 

After gathering his backpack and gym bag from behind their couch Combeferre waves away Enjolras' apologetic look and starts to walk away. Next to him on the couch Feuilly snorts into his textbook. His bare freckled shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. When Combeferre disappears through the library doors he drops his textbook, revealing his phone. He finishes up his message and presses send with a satisfied smile.

"And this is how it's done, children."

Enjolras frowns at his friend but Feuilly simply smiles and slips the phone back into the breast pocket of his sleeveless shirt. 

"You'll see. It's nothing bad, I promise."

His phone trills with a reply, the message tone clearly proclaiming " _Too hot, hot damn_ ", Courf's signature. Enjolras doesn't even want to know what kind of scheming involves Courfeyrac at this point.

"If you sent my friend to help my other friend with his coffee stained pants, you're either a genius or an evil mastermind."

"Frankly I'm just tired of their mutual pining. It's quite silly. Same as Eponine and Cosette be-"

Feuilly catches his mug before Enjolras' arm collides with it.

"Eponine and Cosette?"

"Yes. It's pretty obvious. Marius' devious plan of wooing Cosette via Eponine completely backfired."

Enjolras stares at the pile of textbooks on the table in front of them, his mind buzzing with questions. When he looks up at Feuilly, he catches him grinning behind his mug of mate. He clearly already know what Enjolras is about to ask. 

Enjolras clears his throat and whispers:

"What about..."


	6. Ok, so maybe kissing in the rain is a little bit hot...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And by rain I mean the artificial kind.  
> (My Polish was googled, if someone has better ideas for what Feuilly would be listed as in Courf's phone please leave suggestions.)

**Sloneczko, 4:31pm:**

**_Hey! Can you pick up Grantaire's Rooster head for me? I'm supposed to fix up the feathers tonight but studying with Enjy is taking a while._ **

**Me, 4:32pm:**

**_anything 4 u bb_ **

Courfeyrac isn't sure why he's still at school past 3, but at least he can help Feuilly out and possibly drop by to tease Enjolras a little bit while he's at it. That thought brings up the last time he tried to annoy Enjolras and the resulting mess. Courfeyrac cringes, thinking back to how Combeferre has started saying " _look, Courf, about what happened in the locker room..._ " and how he couldn't stand getting rejected during a fucking rainstorm so he ran. Again. Bahorel would disapprove. 

The football field is deserted and he decides to backflip his way down it for the last few meters instead of walking because he fucking can, and because it takes his mind off of the kiss and Combeferre and the potential and inevitable breakup of their whole group. 

He's being dramatic and he knows it.

There are sounds of water running in the showers when he walks into the locker room. Courf shivers at the thought of encountering a football player and quickly heads for the storage closet where the giant rooster suit resides. As he's fumbling with the lock he spots a pair of familiar jeans in his peripheral vision. Only familiar because they make a certain someone's ass look fantastic in them. A certain someone who-

"Courf?"

When he spins around, Combeferre is standing there in all his naked glory, squinting through his newly wiped glasses. Not making any move to cover up.

"I uh...I came here to get the rooster head...for Feuilly."

Courfeyrac is trying his best to keep staring at the middle of his friend's chest because any lower or any higher doesn't promise anything good.

"Feuilly. Right."

He takes a step towards him and Courf twitches, which Combeferre must interpret at another attempt at running away (it was) and he hurriedly adds:

"Wait, don't go. I'll just...one sec."

He grabs a towel from the bench his clothes are piled on and rapidly wraps it around his waist. Courfeyrac is pretty sure his head is on fire, from how hot his face feels. Combeferre leans over him and expertly tugs at the rusty old lock. His shoulder is right next to Courf's nose and it's just unfair. Combeferre seems to realize it too because he stills and looks down at him with a worried expression. It hurts. Courfeyrac has to correct that.

"Look, Ferre, the kiss was just that. A kiss. I'm not expecting anything from you so if we could just drop it, that would be great."

"Just that?" 

Combeferre's voice is strangely low, but not in a good so-low-and-sexy way. More in a hurt and trying to hold it in way. Combeferre can't start thinking Courf was just playing with him, no matter what. Courfeyrac slumps back against the closet door and sighs. 

"You just looked so damn cute, and I've been wanting to kiss you in a non-dare way for so long and it just...I don't know. I don't want to lose our friendship because of it. I know I should have asked if you wanted to kiss first and Enjolras already told me off for abusing the situation but-"

"I would've said yes."

Courfeyrac's head jerks up so fast he's pretty sure he's sprained his neck. His friend's eyes are dark and warm and his face has softened somewhat from the tense look he's had for the past week. The next words leave Courf's mouth before he can even think about them:

"What if I asked you out?"

They stare at each other for a very long time, Ferre with an expression of confusion, like he'd misheard his friend. But then Combeferre leans in and there is the faintest whisper of " _yes_ " against his lips and then they're kissing. Mutually. Definitely progress in his opinion. When Combeferre pulls away he's smiling so beautifully that Courf can't help but lunge at him, and the ensuing push accidentally backs them both into the showers. The water is still running and the floor is dangerously slippery beneath his sneakers. It's still amazing.

"You're going to get your clothes wet." Combeferre remarks belatedly, even as his arms slip around his waist.

"Do I look like I give a damn?"

Apparently he doesn't because they're kissing again.

 


	7. Fingerpainting?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wear sunscreen, kids.

"Tell me again why I have to drive you to the Thenardiers' parking lot on a Sunday again?"

Enjolras clutches his gym bag tightly against his chest and pointedly doesn't look at his driver.

"Because I'm not giving up on it yet. It was a great idea and I'm making sure we stick with it and make the best of the situation."

Grantaire shrugs and pulls into the empty field, raising clouds of dust around them. Spray paint cans clatter in the shopping bags in the back as they go over some potholes. 

When Feuilly suggested time alone and helped Enjolras to come up with a viable (and useful) excuse he thought it was a great idea. Now that they're standing on the dusty ground behind the closed store on a Sunday morning and Grantaire isn't even looking at him he's not so sure.

"So, we mark the holes and the bumps and then make some general lines for the formation squares, right?" 

Enjolras nods and drags the heavy bags full of cans out of the car. Grantaire is stretching and cracking his knuckles in preparation. They both grab some red paint but to Enjolras' chagrin the other boy walks over to the complete opposite side of the field and gets to work. They probably won't even use that side for practice, Enjolras thinks. But he starts working on his own side anyway. Some of the areas have pavement peeking through the ground and the paint sticks. Others are just sand and soil and one more rainfall will probably wash it away.

They work in silence until Grantaire runs out of paint and comes back for another can. Enjolras uses this as an opportunity.

"Can I see how you've been doing?"

"Sure, though it's pretty hard to fuck up painting seeing as I'm..." Grantaire trails off and grabs a water bottle from the car instead of continuing. 

"I didn't mean it like that. I'm pretty sure I've been fucking up and want to make sure I'm doing this correctly."

This makes Grantaire look up at him with a confused expression. Enjolras can feel irritation creeping up on him because he's not damn perfect and talented and Grantaire doesn't need to look so surprised. 

"Grantaire?"

"Uh, yes. Sure."

They walk over to the other side of the field. Grantaire's work is significantly neater than his own. And yet he looks unsure and kind of adorable standing there, rubbing his neck awkwardly as if waiting for Enjolras' verdict. Enjolras chews his lip, thinking about a way to bring up the fact that he maybe kind of has a crush on him when he catches a glimpse of a patch of red a little further away. 

"I don't think you needed to..."

When he gets close enough to the spot, right behind the store, he realizes that the paint is dry and a different shade. And it's definitely not a simplistic X or O on the ground. It's a full on graffiti, with shading and different tones of red and black intersecting into a familiar looking face. 

He turns back to look at Grantaire, who looks terrified and frozen on the spot.

"Is this yours?"

"It's old. I promise I didn't mean it in a creepy way and the Thenardiers' don't give a damn about the pavement. I can remove it." He quickly stammers out, lifting his hands up defensively.

Enjolras crouches down and run a finger over the painted red curls. The resemblance is striking, if not for the fact that the graffiti version looks almost god-like and ethereal in its crimson hues.

"It's incredible. Though I hope I won't get in trouble with the law for having my face illegally painted on the ground."

In response all he gets is insincere laughter. He decisively walks back over to Grantaire and looks directly at him.

"You are extremely talented, R. I'm glad to have you on the team." _And in my life._

The nickname makes Grantaire's mouth twitch up slightly in a smile.

"Aw, shucks, cap. I might start thinking that you actually like me."

He feels the tips of his ears catch fire but continues to stare ahead at that smile that starts faltering again. So Enjolras just decides to say it:

"Actually I do."

Grantaire raises an eyebrow and slides his hand through the mop of curls on his forehead.

"Enj, I was joking. I assumed that much seeing as you haven't kicked me out yet. I'm still surprised though."

"No." Enjolras swallows the ball of anxiety lodged in his throat because this could all go so very wrong. "I mean it in the romantic sense of the term."

"Ok, surprised doesn't cover it." Grantaire squeaks out before covering his mouth with a paint covered hand. The rest of his face is flushed and pupils dilated and Enjolras really wants to interpret it as a confession to mutual interest but he also wants to hear him say it. So he reaches out and carefully pries Grantaire's hand away. 

"Good surprised?" 

Grantaire breathes deeply a few times, and it tickles Enjolras' wrist.  

"Definitely good surprised." He finally says. "You know what would make it better?"

"Kissing?"

"I was going to say getting some aloe for your sunburn, but that'll do for now."

 

They end up making out pressed against the wall near the graffiti. It doesn't rain this time so Grantaire's skin tastes faintly of dust and pollen. Enjolras doesn't mind at all.

 

 


	8. Kids these days.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I want to write about more of the characters. Like Fantine, and Montparnasse. But alas, my muse is going on lunch break.)

It's already dark out and they still have at least 3 more hours of driving to do. Jean Valjean looks in the rear view mirror at the students scattered around the seats of the minibus and smiles.

Third place wasn't that bad, and enough to get them through the start of the season in the eyes of the school board. Enjolras' captaincy is certainly doing wonders for the team. He and Grantaire are in the third row behind a snoring Bahorel and Marius, and Joly and Bossuet who have the small trophy squeezed between them.

"Ow, ow, watch it."

"I thought you'd learned from last time. Your face will start peeling if I don't put this on."

Enjolras glares at his boyfriend and at the tube of lotion in his hands. Grantaire sighs.

"You can do this yourse-"

"Fine. Just be careful."

Jean Valjean is pretty sure this will just end in more kissing as if the winning celebrations didn't have enough of that. Even Courfeyrac isn't as physical and in fact currently too busy playing some card game against Musichetta in the back. Combeferre still has his chin perched on Courfeyrac's shoulder and the shorter boy periodically turns to peck him on the cheek or whisper something to him.

Feuilly is sprawled on the other side, taking up an entire row of seats to himself with Jehan draped over him like a multicoloured frizzy haired blanket. Eponine is sitting in Cosette's lap with her head resting on her shoulder and Cosette combing her fingers through her girlfriend's hair.

Why most of the marching band had to come along is beyond him, but the cheering squad is mostly silent and Jean Valjean is thankful for it. He hums show tunes under his breath and keeps driving. 

 


End file.
